MURDER AT THE GALLOP (1963) **1/2 The point of reference for my generation-the television generation-is, of course "Murder, She Wrote." Not as many of us read as much Agatha Christie as we should, and even I have to admit to having never read a single Miss Marple. The preference for Margaret Rutherford's Marple or Angela Lansbury's Jessica Fletcher may be cultural, or aesthetic (the English and high-brows for Margaret; Americans and pop culture for Angela), but there's no denying that this is good fun, whatever more it may be. And I (firmly in the Angela camp) have to admit that Jessica was never surrounded by characters as wonderful as these: Robert Morley bumbling and blathering his way towards what seems like a mountable challenge of romance (there is, in fact a scene between Morley and Rutherford that does rather lend itself to quite risqué interpretation-for some unfathomable strain of fetishist); and Katya Douglas doing a good (well, perhaps evil, but not bad) Elizabeth Taylor impression--and ask any woman of that generation how easy that is to do. And if clever and quaint are as always the long suits, there is just a bit of rather saucier seasoning--good heavens man!, one of those dances is even more vulgar and barbarian than the Charleston! The thing about these…quite a bit different, actually….is that you can often figure out most of a "Murder, She Wrote" shortly after the opening credits….Agatha Christie invariably surprises me at the end….so you can add the like to relax/like a challenge dichotomy to the opposing camps as well!
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